


505.

by 1roomdisco



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Adulthood, Age Difference, Character Study, Friendship, M/M, Neighbors, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, adulthood makes sungjin bleak, kinda dark ya feel me, rated M for... subcontext, sungjin is rich af he's 39 - wonpil is 18
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-05-13 22:51:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14757797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1roomdisco/pseuds/1roomdisco
Summary: Park Sungjin has just moved to apartment number 505. To his neighbor, a high school kid, the number looks like a call for help.(The kid is not exactly wrong.)





	1. PROLOGUE.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EniciaPop (Enicia24)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enicia24/gifts).



> basically:  
> \- sungjin is rich af, adult af, miserable af  
> \- very huge age difference (39 and 18 respectively)  
> \- i'm back writing sungpil lmao
> 
> > will update in shorter chapters  
> > help me create the plot?
> 
> @KL cheers to another long-ass ride ur with me til the end u my big sis

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sungjin looks up, squinting to the top of his new apartment’s building. He thought he saw some pink sheets flapping about from the distance. Sure enough, there are not just pink but various other colored sheets and baby clothes. The weather has cooled down now that it’s already five o’clock in the afternoon, and Sungjin has a bit of Melona bar left and a box of Pocky he just bought from the GS25 at the intersection nearby. Taking a great view of his new neighborhood seems like a good idea, he thinks.

He gets into the elevator, pressing seven. Apparently he needs to climb the stairs, just one short level, to get to the rooftop. He’s finished his ice cream by now, and as he opens the heavy door with one hand, he puts the ice cream stick into the plastic bag with his free hand, giving a hum of satisfaction when the refreshing summer breeze hits him.

The rooftop is quite spacious. The clotheslines are arranged neatly and it’s only half-full. Sungjin wipes his hand on the fabric of his loose, black pants, and pauses.

There’s someone else over there, perched on top of the chest-high ugly yellow colored wall. His legs are dangling off the cemented floor dangerously, one grey bunny slipper is already forgotten while the other is hanging by his bare toes. Sungjin assesses the situation and the first thing that comes to mind is;

_He’s going to die._

That’s a kid, alright. He’s wearing a white shirt, wrinkled at the hem, obviously because he’s been moving around since morning then decided to untuck it. The trousers fit him a little bit too tight to be comfortable; a mix of dark green and even darker green in a checkered pattern.

The second thing that comes to Sungjin’s mind is;

_Is he dead alrea—_

But then the kid  _moves_  even further towards the open air and Sungjin’s body reacts before he even knows it.

He runs.

He runs through the sheets and the smell of cotton softener from the baby clothes, praying to whatever deity it is up there to let him catch the kid before it’s too late. He slips on the remaining of a puddle from a still damp pink sheet that slaps him on his face. He loses his balance and he grunts, loudly, surprised because it  _stings_ —and as he struggles to freed himself from the sheet, the kid looks over at him, gasps, his eyes wide, probably because of the flailing Sungjin is doing, and suddenly Sungjin is pulling an armful of tiny, warm body.

Sungjin falls backward. He can’t afford to have another broken spine, so he uses his left hand to minimize the impact of the crash, hears a bone cracking anyway, and tightens his arm around the kid’s torso.

There’s a searing pain on his left wrist and a loud thunder of his heartbeats in his ears.

The kid scrambles off his hold, eyes still as wide and his mouth opens.  _What a good looking kid_ , is what Sungjin thinks upon seeing the youthful roundness of his face and the name printed on the pocket of his white shirt, right on top of the school’s emblem:

Kim Wonpil.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. THE BEGINNING.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hwitaek blinks, gnaws the inside of his cheek, and asks, “Did you tell uncle and aunt? Your noona?”  
>   
> 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

>  
> 
> _do you have difficult times?_
> 
> [ _do you know the feeling of going to zero?_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fTc7oXWJ5xI)
> 
>  

 

 

 

 

 

Hwitaek called his personal phone thrice. He first called a few hours after his departure, wishing him all the best, then a week later; just a random mumbling about feeling weird not being able to listen to his voice for such a period of time, and finally,

 _“They’re in your office, brown map. Please read them carefully.”_ A pause. _“Please call me as soon as you’re home? I checked you still have cereals and milk in the fridge if you’re hungry. Or just order something, yeah? Seriously, call me soon.”_

And Sungjin makes a mental note to do so, but first, he needs to take a long, hot shower.

He doesn’t let himself go idle even for a minute. His memory foam bed is very tempting after nearly three months sleeping in a cot in a private room overlooking the mountain. It’s only four in the afternoon. His bedroom is darkened because he didn’t bother turning on the light or drawing the curtains; there will be no grand view anyway.

He’s not hungry yet.

He will have to call Hwitaek soon.

He goes to the walk-in closet. Everything is as it is; color-coordinated, expensive, and hilariously overwhelming. They’re just clothes. Sungjin is going to pick the usual get-go anyway, he doesn’t need the rest. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he takes a pair of loose cotton pants and loose, thick t-shirt, all in black, including the underwear.

The joint bathroom is also as it is; sleek and modern, dominated with white marbles everything. Sungjin wastes no time to undress and checks the shower’s temperature. He finishes showering in ten minutes. Looking at his reflection on the fogged mirror, he sees a gaunt face; blooming pink because of the heat, a hint of stubble around his chin and mouth area. His eyes darkened, but maybe it’s just his age catching up on him. He’s himself, all the meditation and eating only three meals a day without unnecessary snacking and smoking did wonder to his skin. He probably consumed more than eight glasses of water per day, improving his overall condition. It’s summer, it’s a good habit to pick up, really, Sungjin is thankful for that. His body feels— _is_ lighter, like he can breathe properly after (willingly) getting exposed to harming substance for so long. His shoulders are no longer knotted or tensed, the muscles are loosened up. His mind is finally, or at least he believes it is, making peace with his heart.

He brushes his teeth, gargles his favorite mouthwash, and thinks about smashing his fist to the mirror just because, but he doesn’t want to deal with Hwitaek’s most likely hysterical reaction after. He’s probably the sole reason of his best friend’s premature baldness. Hwitaek’s hairline is tragic and he’s only thirty-eight years old.

Sungjin frowns when he finds his hand is trembling as he pushes open the heavy door to his office.

The brown map has nothing written on it, but there’s a yellow post-it pasted on top. Hwitaek’s neat writing says,

 

_They’re just a copy. Please read them carefully. Call me ASAP._

 

Sungjin does as told. He reads the documents four times before deeming it enough. What’s done is done.

He goes back to his bedroom, bringing the brown map along. He stays on his feet, pressing Hwitaek’s name on the phone book, and Hwitaek answers after the first ring.

 _“Are you home? Have you eaten?”_ The usual _are you alright?_ goes unsaid but it’s there.

“Yeah, and no,” Sungjin frowns again because what is wrong with his voice? It’s not like he went on a no-talking fest during his stay. Why doesn’t he sound like himself? He clears his throat and continues, “What time will you be here?”

Hwitaek hums. _“I can go now, what do you want to eat?”_

“I’ll have the organic roasted chicken salad from Le Fleur, maybe some pasta?” Sungjin answers without missing a beat. It’s okay to indulge in such worldly essential in the form of exquisite, expensive food, he thinks.

“Bring some bamboo juice for me, will you?” he adds, craving the simple taste after having too much barley tea.

 _“Absolutely.”_ Hwitaek easily agrees. There’s a rustling from his side, and a promise, _“Be there in an hour.”_

As he waits for Hwitaek to arrive, Sungjin does the following in an hour and ten minutes:

Nothing.

Hwitaek finds him lying on the grey sofa, his feet propped up on a couple of cushions. He calls Sungjin’s name while going to the kitchen to prepare their early dinner, and Sungjin opens his eyes.

“Got everything you want,” Hwitaek announces as Sungjin sits on the bar stool. He’s preparing the bamboo juice first, the sleeves of his white Armani shirt are rolled up to his elbows. “Extra ice?” he asks, and Sungjin nods.

Ah, it’s really been a while.

Sungjin gobbles up the salad with the freshly made garlic bread, and Hwitaek is picking on his baked rigatoni. They’re eating in a comfortable silence; the only background noise is from the outside where neighboring cars are slowly driving pass. Hwitaek hasn’t checked his phone, not even once. Sungjin doesn’t make a comment about it.

“Were you sleeping?” Hwitaek asks, downing the last of his own bamboo juice. He’s rubbing his right thumb against his left knuckles. Sungjin is bracing himself.

“What? Earlier? No,” and before Hwitaek gets even balder, Sungjin decides that moment to confess,

“Listen, I’ve been thinking during my staying there—”

But Hwitaek interrupts him with a frantic, “Oh god you’re going to be a monk.”

Sungjin snorts a laugh. He gets a bit of the garlic in his nose. It hurts, but it’s worth it. When he was staying at the monastery in Woljeongsa, Gangwon, for three months, laughing out loud had seemed inappropriate. He didn’t go there to laugh, anyway, so coming back to his best friend’s typically neurotic response to _everything_ is a very refreshing restart.

“No, not that, I promise,” he coughs to a napkin, taking his time to enjoy a glass of water while Hwitaek waits, _vibrates_ , really, next to him.

“What is it?” Hwitaek urges, but his tone is soft and undemanding.

Sungjin smiles, wiping his mouth with the napkin.

“I’m going to move out,” he tosses the napkin aside and swings both hands in the air, “I’ll leave everything. You’ve heard of ‘minimalism’, right? I’m trying that.”

Hwitaek nods, but there’s a hard set of line on his temple. He’s thinking.

“How about this,” he says, using his patented Lee Hwitaek’s lawyer voice, making it hard for Sungjin not to pay attention. “First, you’re going to list down your plan. Everything. Write it down. That way, I can propose the pros and cons, and then we can sit down together again to talk about it.”

“Deal,” Sungjin shrugs. It makes sense. Hwitaek will never fail him. Decades of being best friends serve as more than enough credential for Hwitaek to always take part of something big happening in Sungjin’s life. This _is_ big. Sungjin is being serious about leaving everything behind.

Hwitaek blinks, gnaws the inside of his cheek, and asks, “Did you tell uncle and aunt? Your noona?”

Sungjin shakes his head. “Not yet, but you know I will.”

“Yeah,” Hwitaek mumbles, “more reasons for you to list down your plan so we can make the preparation.” He takes a deep breath, deflating in the stool, like he’s tired but not surprised by Sungjin’s choice of misconduct regarding his own life. It’s not the first time, and certainly won’t be the last, and Hwitaek is tired because mostly, he knows he _can’t do_ anything to change Sungjin’s mind whatsoever once he’s determined to do something—to get anything done.

“Tell me,” he says, still sounding defeated, propping up his chin with one palm.

Sungjin puts down his fork. He swivels the stool so he can rest his back against the marbled bar.

“I’m just going to rent a studio apartment. Somewhere outskirt of Seoul? As long as it’s quiet,” he starts, and then he comes up with what he thinks is a clever joke, “living life to its minimal.”

Hwitaek doesn’t even smile. He prods instead, “Will you keep your phone?”

“Yeah.”

“Will you install Wi-Fi?”

“Of course, Hwi-yah, I’ve still got business to run.” Sungjin laughs, hitting Hwitaek’s skinny thigh clad in, what, Burberry trousers?

Hwitaek cracks a smile, still tired looking, but it’s a smile nonetheless. “I know a good realtor. He can help you,” he says, stabbing a portion of his baked rigatoni, chewing it quickly. “What else?”

“That’s it,” Sungjin is telling the truth, “I just don’t want to live here anymore.”

Hwitaek makes a distressed noise that doesn’t go unnoticed. He seems apologetic because Sungjin is grinning, and he says, “I understand. But you—“ he blinksblinksblinks and Sungjin has had his share of mocking Hwitaek’s softness at times like these so he keeps his teasing to himself, silently offering a transparent box of tissue for his best friend. Hwitaek takes one, clutching it with a tightly clenched fist.

Hwitaek is breathing through his mouth now.

“But you will tell me if, I mean— _if_ , if you’ve ever felt like—you know? You know I will always be here for you, right?” he’s pleading, and Sungjin is forever grateful for his tender heart. Hyuna is a very lucky woman to have Hwitaek in her life.

“Yeah, what did you say to me on the phone?” Sungjin is never big on friendly skinship even after decades, so he squeezes Hwitaek’s shaking shoulders to convey his feeling. “Absolutely?”

Hwitaek sniffs wetly, “Absolutely.”

“There you go.”

 

* * *

 

Money does wonder.

In no time at all, Sungjin found the perfect apartment. It’s located at the far north side of Han River, it will take about fifteen minutes subway ride to get to central Seoul. The seven story building is brick colored, there’s no parking lot, and each unit is completed with a small balcony. The neighborhood seems great. There’s a quite large GS25 at the intersection and a decent park enough for jogging. A preschool across the park, and what looks like a high school just five minutes walking distance. Lots of family restaurants and a market just three blocks away.

Sungjin’s unit is on the fifth floor, number 505, at the end of the narrow hallway.

It gets good light in the morning. The heater needs to be repaired but it will be ready once Sungjin is moving in two weeks. The shower is working just fine. Sungjin is thinking to buy a miniature of his memory foam bed for his new apartment, a brand new fridge and a washing machine. He’ll just bring his old flat screen and rice cooker there. Maybe a couple of minimalism paintings he saw in a gallery in Itaewon. Everything will be in monochromatic colors. He will bring his laptop, obviously, and install a high speed Wi-Fi. His vintage Marshall speaker. The new self-help books he bought online. Basic cooking and eating utensils. He can’t wait to get out of here.

 

* * *

 

Sungjin looks up, squinting to the top of his new apartment’s building. He thought he saw some pink sheets flapping about from the distance. Sure enough, there are not just pink but various other colored sheets and baby clothes. The weather has cooled down now that it’s already five o’clock in the afternoon, and Sungjin has a bit of Melona bar left and a box of Pocky he just bought from the GS25 at the intersection nearby. Taking a great view of his new neighborhood seems like a good idea, he thinks.

He gets into the elevator, pressing seven. Apparently he needs to climb the stairs, just one short level, to get to the rooftop. He’s finished his ice cream by now, and as he opens the heavy door with one hand, he puts the ice cream stick into the plastic bag with his free hand, giving a hum of satisfaction when the refreshing summer breeze hits him.

The rooftop is quite spacious. The clotheslines are arranged neatly and it’s only half-full. Sungjin wipes his hand on the fabric of his loose, black pants, and pauses.

There’s someone else over there, perched on top of the chest-high ugly yellow colored wall. His legs are dangling off the cemented floor dangerously, one grey bunny slipper is already forgotten while the other is hanging by his bare toes. Sungjin assesses the situation and the first thing that comes to mind is;

_He’s going to die._

That’s a kid, alright. He’s wearing a white shirt, wrinkled at the hem, obviously because he’s been moving around since morning then decided to untuck it. The trousers fit him a little bit too tight to be comfortable; a mix of dark green and even darker green in a checkered pattern.

The second thing that comes to Sungjin’s mind is;

_Is he dead alrea—_

But then the kid _moves_ even further towards the open air and Sungjin’s body reacts before he even knows it.

He runs.

He runs through the sheets and the smell of cotton softener from the baby clothes, praying to whatever deity it is up there to let him catch the kid before it’s too late. He slips on the remaining of a puddle from a still damp pink sheet that slaps him on his face. He loses his balance and he grunts, loudly, surprised because it _stings_ —and as he struggles to freed himself from the sheet, the kid looks over at him, gasps, his eyes wide, probably because of the flailing Sungjin is doing, and suddenly Sungjin is pulling an armful of tiny, warm body.

Sungjin falls backward. He can’t afford to have another broken spine, so he uses his left hand to minimize the impact of the crash, hears a bone cracking anyway, and tightens his arm around the kid’s torso.

There’s a searing pain on his left wrist and a loud thunder of his heartbeats in his ears.

The kid scrambles off his hold, eyes still as wide and his mouth opens. _What a good looking kid_ , is what Sungjin thinks upon seeing the youthful roundness of his face and the name printed on the pocket of his white shirt, right on top of the school’s emblem:

Kim Wonpil.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  \- there you go, friends.  
> \- shorter chapters.  
> \- i'm also experimenting; next chapter will be from wonpil's POV.  
> \- i wil try to link to 'song of the chapter' every time i post. god ONF's 'incomplete' fucks me up real bad christ.  
> \- did ya feel the bleak atmosphere or was it not dark enough? /wipes sweats/  
> \- do tell me in the comment akskjdfjka.  
> 


	3. BE CAREFUL.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  “Your wording was all weird. _'He can’t live without me’,_ what are you, a twisted lover?”  
>   
> 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You seem so energetic, hyung.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Nope,” Dowoon says, nonchalantly, hoisting up his backpack higher. He’s got his hands in the pockets of his green slash darker green checkered pattern trousers. He’s hovering over Wonpil like a very unhelpful shadow. “It’s just _a_ _lot_ more than usual, though.”

Wonpil gives his best friend the stingy eye, which Dowoon just flicks it off with his fingers as if he can’t be bothered with such half-hearted protest. Wonpil laughs, reads the contents of a small jar of ricotta cheese, tries to remember whether Ahjusshi is lactose-intolerant or not, and decides to purchase it anyway.

But apparently, Dowoon is not finished yet. “Also, you’ve been shopping more frequently nowadays. Are you stocking up for zombie apocalypse?”

“Yoon Dowoon!” Wonpil giggles, scrunching his nose at Dowoon’s ridiculous question. Even though it’s the truth, him shopping more frequently that is, it seems weird now that there’s someone mentioning it out loud.

He straightens up and answers, “Do you remember about an uncle living next door? When you had a sleepover he just moved in?”

“Yes?”

“Well, we sort of fell into this arrangement,” Wonpil hums, glancing at Dowoon with a small smile, “to keep it short; he can’t live without me for at least another month.”

Dowoon pauses.

“What did you do?” he asks, a frown apparent in his voice.

“What’s with the accusation? I don’t like your tone, young man!” Wonpil tuts, pushing the cart as he leads them towards the meat aisle. Because it’s Friday and Wonpil will have more time, they’re having steak for dinner later. Wonpil will use the ricotta cheese for a Mediterranean style salad, he’s got all the ingredients needed, and thanks to Ahjusshi, he understands that olive oil is a healthier choice to cook basically anything in the kitchen, and especially as a salad dressing.

“Your wording was all weird,” Dowoon pouts, but then he openly mocks, “ _’he can’t live without me’_ , what are you, a twisted lover?”

Wonpil laughs out loud, _wheezing_ , really, and Dowoon pretends to bow apologetically to nonexistent, annoyed shoppers. They’re the only ones at the meat aisle.

“But it’s the truth!” Wonpil exclaims, taking two cut steak meat in cling wrap. “It’s a funny story, actually. He saw me hanging off the building, thinking that I was going to jump. So he grabbed me, pulled me over, and broke his wrist in the process! So while he’s recovering, which will take quite a while since he’s like, old, I’m like, his personal assistant now. I come over to cook breakfast and dinner, wash the dishes, take out the trash.” He picks the one in his left hand, putting it in the cart.

“That uncle is rich? He gives me 300,000 won for a week and lets me buy anything in the supermarket. Of course, like the good boy I am, I give back the change at the end of the week.”

Dowoon snorts, clearly in disbelief, “You’re kidding.”

Wonpil shakes his head. “I’m not,” he says, “this is the second week of our arrangement. That uncle eats so, so well. I’m proud of myself.”

“How old is this uncle? Does he have a name?”

“I dunno… thirty-five? He looks like he used to have a bit of weight on him but like, he probably went on a diet. Still broad, but, umm, he _doesn’t_ exactly look frail, he’s just… withered? And his name is Park Sungjin.”

“That means he was around my age when you were born,” Dowoon comments, “that name seems familiar. Park Sungjin.”

“Maybe so,” Wonpil says, eyeing a selection of instant cake mix. He remembers Ahjusshi said he is not a picky eater, and Wonpil knows Ahjusshi has a shiny microwave that he _never uses_.

He takes the ‘super moist chocolate brownie’ cake mix, again remembering that he can make fresh cream with the eggs stored in Ahjusshi’s sleek, obviously expensive and probably _organic_ , metallic grey fridge.

“I’m going to feed him until he looks fresh again. He’s a bachelor, I guess, I never see him bringing home his dates whatsoever. He’s handsome, for an uncle. Can’t waste it.”

“You sound like you’re talking about a _product_ ,” Dowoon quips, coughing to conceal his wide grin, “it’s weird.”

Wonpil rolls his eyes. “You’re weird.”

“Classic,” Dowoon shoves Wonpil’s shoulders, not minding his power as a growing seventeen-year-old. “You should be careful.”

“For what?” Wonpil doesn’t retort that _he_ should be careful around him if Dowoon is going to shove him around like he just did.

Dowoon shrugs. “He’s an adult.”

Wonpil _guffaws_. He’s doubling over, and damn nearly faceplants to the cart’s handrail. The mere idea of Ahjusshi being a threat is not only hilarious but also insulting for Wonpil; so he gives a good slap, or two, to Dowoon’s begrudgingly developing bicep, and yells at him to shut up.

“You shut up, hyung,” Dowoon whines, and then—because he’s a brat and he knows it, he asks, “since your uncle is rich, he can spare me an ice cream cone, right?”

Wonpil puts a hand to his chest, a dramatic flair to his dramatic confession, “God, sometimes I wonder why you’re my favorite junior at all!”

 

* * *

 

20:19

Younghyunnie-hyung~: Hey did you eat?

 

20:25

wonpillie: hi hyung!! yes i ate alr

wonpillie: hbu?

 

20:27

Younghyunnie-hyung~: Good

Younghyunnie-hyung~: I did with Jae we went to a jajjangmyun place

Younghyunnie-hyung~: Let’s go there sometime it’s so good

 

20:28

wonpillie: yeay! its a promise!

 

“Your girlfriend?”

“What? No! Oh my god, ahjusshi, no!”

Sungjin laughs, his wide shoulders are shaking alongside the clear and amused sound he’s making. There’s no other word to describe how the older man sounds; when he speaks, you can’t help but to be drawn to him. He doesn’t need to raise his voice, his sole existence itself is a force. At least that was what Wonpil had seen firsthand when he accompanied Sungjin to the hospital to get his broken wrist treated and when they went to GS25 at the intersection; Sungjin had made heads turn. Wonpil had thought it was because Sungjin was handsome, in a rather conventional Korean way; tanned skin, cropped really short but tasteful haircut, tall and quite big nose that is the first thing you will notice about him, and only then you will take a longer second to admire his beautiful, round eyes, adorned with lines of stories that Wonpil hasn’t had a chance to ask yet.

But. No.

It’s Sungjin’s _everything_ , really. Sure his handsome face plays a prominent role as a very effective attention stealer, but Wonpil quickly realizes even the way Sungjin carries himself is a league of its own, despite only wearing less fashionable articles of clothing whenever they go out to try a new family restaurant every a few days or so.

Then again, Wonpil has never befriended an uncle before. Teachers don’t count. Neither do his parents’ siblings.

“Sorry,” Sungjin waves his healthy, right hand, “you had this soft smile on your face when you read the messages. Is it KakaoTalk?”

“Yeah, it’s the only thing I’m using,” Wonpil smiles, scrolling through his and Younghyun-hyung’s old chat. He looks up to catch a glimpse of a sideway smirk from Sungjin, but he dismisses it as nothing and says, “That was a good friend of mine, a hyung from my hometown. We’ve known each other since we were young. Now he’s a substitute English teacher in my school.”

“That’s nice,” Sungjin agrees, drinking mineral water from his sophisticated looking bottle. “How old is he?”

“Five years older. He’s twenty-three.” Wonpil answers, sitting on the fluffy carpet on the floor where he’s been doing his biology homework on the coffee table. The huge flat screen is on, the volume is muted down, showing a documentary about Helsinki. Sungjin doesn’t watch dramas, from Wonpil is observing. He has cable, too, and just like Wonpil’s dad, he watches night news and shows about nature. He doesn’t seem to have problem watching English-spoken shows without subtitle, and that’s just another in the list of why Wonpil is going to learn a lot from this uncle.

“How old are you again, ahjusshi?” Wonpil asks.

“Thirty-nine.” Sungjin replies without missing a beat.

Wonpil makes a face that’s thankfully hidden from Sungjin’s view. Not thirty-five, then. Sungjin was already twenty-one years old when Wonpil was born.

“What was the most memorable thing you did when you were my age?”

“And how old are you again?”

“I’m eighteen, ahjusshi, please.”

“Right,” Sungjin sniffs, shifting on his plush sofa. “I just wanted to play games. I got a desktop that year, and my father enrolled me in a programming course after school. I was in a band.”

“So you were popular.” Wonpil concludes, sending Sungjin a teasing smile.

“Probably,” Sungjin suddenly laughs, “speaking of. You’re like, a piano prodigy, right? My good friend is a vocal trainer in SM Entertainment. He appeared in last season of Produce 101.”

Wonpil’s eyes widened.

“No way! That Sandeul guy? I like him so much, he’s so cute! He’s thirty-nine? Doesn’t look like he’s your age!” he babbles, because, wow! He can’t believe Sungjin is friends with a celebrity!

“He’s forty this year,” Sungjin nods, “he does have a youthful face. It’s all the singing. He doesn’t smoke, either. You get the drill.”

“Do you smoke, ahjusshi?” Wonpil asks, getting back to his homework. He can’t wait to tell Dowoon that Sungjin is friends with someone who appears on TV!

“I did, but I quit. I’m trying to cut off my alcohol intake as well.”

“Aww, and to think that I could get you to buy me a bottle of soju!”

Sungjin reaches forward to ruffle his hair, and Wonpil gasps, pleasantly electrified. He always likes it when someone does that.

“Maybe next time, kid.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHARACTER SHEET so far, so we won't be confused:
> 
>  
> 
> [](http://tinypic.com?ref=o92xw1)  
> 
> 
>  
> 
> p.s. yes i swapped sungjin and wonpil's hometowns for the sole purpose of logic ajsdjfjasfa.
> 
>   
>   
> 


	4. CONCURRENCE.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>   
>  “I can’t even. How do you guys _communicate_? The kid’s probably thinking you’re a smelly uncle or something, I’ll bet my paycheck.”  
>   
>   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>   
>   
>   
>  * who else is exCITED FOR MORE REVEALS? dun dun dun the plot thickens
> 
> * apologize for the slow update pls comment for speedier upgrade (brian could never rhyme like this)  
>   
>   
> 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You’re all dressed up, ahjusshi,” Wonpil says, pretending to sound nonchalant, putting a huge serving of rice to Sungjin’s bowl. “Going somewhere?” he asks, glancing at Sungjin form behind his eyelashes, his Adam’s apple moving.

Sungjin knows what’s shaking Wonpil off his axis. The kid—god bless him for being eighteen—is surprised to see him wearing his trustworthy Burberry camp collar shirt, colored like chocolate milk, tucked into his now size M ankle-length, pleated trousers. Wonpil is too used to his everyday hobo look that he had paused, cutely, if Sungjin might add, when he answered the door earlier. His broken wrist still needs time to heal properly, Sungjin predicts that they will still have their ‘mutual arrangement’ for the next couple of weeks.

It’s been almost a month already, of course Wonpil is curious as to what made Sungjin is all dressed up on a Monday morning.

Even Sungjin is planning to put on his Chanel cologne later on.

“Yes,” he answers shortly, thanking his ‘young butler slash caretaker’ (Wonpil’s words, not his) for the bowl of rice.

“Oh,” Wonpil frowns, jutting out his bottom lip. “To work?” he asks again, putting a portion of stir fry teriyaki for Sungjin.

Sungjin smiles. “No, something else came up.”

Wonpil sighs, cutely, trying to be discreet.

“What do you do, anyway, ahjusshi? You never told me in detail,” he says, sitting down across from Sungjin on the dining table.

Sungjin laughs. “I’m in the IT business, a completely different world from yours.”

“Are you meeting Mister Sandeul?” Wonpil asks, clasping his palms for a quick prayer.

“Hm, that’s actually a good idea,” Sungjin chirps. He finishes a glass of water first before digging in the breakfast that Wonpil cooked for them, as part of their ‘mutual arrangement’.

“Take selca or you’re lying about being friends with the nation’s most huggable judge!” Wonpil huffs, his cheeks are bulging like a chipmunk.

“Sure,” Sungjin clicks his tongue, shaking his head, “do you want his sign or something?”

That piques Wonpil’s interest. “I won’t say no to his latest album,” he admits, toning down his blatant excitement with an embarrassed grin. “Umm, plus his sign?”

Sungjin raises his eyebrows, making an unimpressed face.

Wonpil gasps. His understanding about the game is quite impressive. He rubs his palms together, whining, “Pretty please, ahjusshi? I’ve been good all this time, yeah? _Pleeeaaaaase~_ I’ll bake sugar free chocolate chip cookies tomorrow, please please?”

Sungjin barks a laugh, and seals the promise by gently flicking Wonpil’s fringe.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Apparently, it’s not a long and grueling process.

Hwitaek says that’s only because you don’t have children and that she doesn’t want anything from him. Sungjin was the one filing up for the divorce before he went to the mountain; it only took him seven months to do so after finding out that she cheated on him with her grad school colleague who happened to be in town back then when he was still in bed, mostly depressed because of his broken spine at the age of thirty-eight.

They both have got nothing to lose. She’s a plain-looking woman with mild personality coming from a conservative, rich family. Clearly, it won’t be a feat for her to get anyone she wants. Sungjin is not irreplaceable, he knows that.

Hwitaek suggested to have her agree to donate to a cause monthly for the duration when she cheated on him. Sungjin thought that’s actually a good idea and put it on the divorce paper. She signed it, easily, and today they’re meeting for the first time after Sungjin came back from the mountain.

She cut her hair. Nothing too bold. Sungjin compliments her and she thanks him with the smile that makes her look vulnerable. She’s not doing it on purpose, that’s just the way she is. Sungjin almost feels bad, but then again maybe that was why he married her in the first place; he had never loved her.

It’s not a long and grueling process, it’s just a matter of waiting for the court to get their schedule out to legalize their divorce. Approximately in two months-ish, both Hwitaek and her lawyer say. Sungjin doesn’t fuss when she offers to pay for their divorce fee, it’s the least she can do, really.

The house is Sungjin’s in the first place. Their cars are under their own names. They don’t have any pets. Everything is done in half an hour, and Sungjin calls Junghwan, stage name Sandeul, for brunch.

 

 

 

“Why is this dude watching you eat like a hawk?”

Hwitaek sighs, making a face at Junghwan’s comment.

Sungjin laughs, almost choking on his Big Whopper.

“Look at him, he’s a free man, Hwi-yah, let the newly crowned bachelor eat in peace,” Junghwan says, loud, as usual, not minding that he’s a public figure eating at a fast food chain, gathering attention.

Sungjin pats Hwitaek’s back, gently, reassuring him that this is the first time he’s stuffing his face with fast food after he came back from the mountain.

“Honestly, let me eat in peace.” Sungjin says, taking a big swig of mineral water that he ordered instead of Coke, his best version of clean eating.

“Should I start looking for a cook that comes daily for you?” Hwitaek asks, finally touching his fries. He’s pouring the ketchup like a Barbarian.

“I’m eating well,” Sungjin shakes his head, “remember the kid I told you? The one I thought was going to jump off the roof?”

Hwitaek and Junghwan nod in unison.

Sungjin mimics them, holding up his right hand and listing down Wonpil’s capabilities.

“He’s a better cook than I am, he hangs my laundry, he washes the dishes, vacuums my apartment, he’s not spoiled—” When Sungjin runs out of fingers he gets back to his pinky— “He loves Mister Sandeul, wants to work for either Hans Zimmerman or Danny Elfman, he’s cute and he knows it, and he entertains me.”

Junghwan hums at the end of Sungjin’s monologue. Hwitaek seems to be more relaxed.

“Doesn’t sound like the typical millennial, but at least he loves me.”

“Which was why I asked you to bring your unsealed, latest album,” Sungjin says, licking his thumb. “Do you have it?”

“Of course,” Junghwan answers, gesturing to his tote bag, “did he want a sign? Because I brought my special marker. What’s his name?”

Sungjin nods. “Wonpil.”

Junghwan smiles. “That’s cute.”

 _It is,_ Sungjin’s mind uselessly says to himself.

“Does he live alone?” Hwitaek asks, pushing three fries all at once into his mouth.

“Yeah, he’s very gifted,” Sungjin answers, stealing Junghwan’s onion ring. “Got a full ride scholarship. His family is in Busan, but he’s speaking in Seoul accent just fine. Said his family visits him once a month. Haven’t met them yet.” He pauses. “Do you think I should introduce myself to his family?”

Hwitaek opens his mouth as if to question him but Junghwan beats him to it.

“What, like, _‘hi, I’m Korea’s third richest man who happens to be your son’s neighbor and, oh, he broke my wrist’_?”

“Heh,” Sungjin snorts. “Right.”

“Maybe do so if the kid wants to,” Hwitaek says, now reaching for his fried chicken. “How old is he again?”

“Eighteen.”

“Muahahahaha!”

“Why are you laughing?!” Hwitaek screeches, but he’s smiling at Junghwan guffawing in his seat. Sungjin pities Moonbyul for having to deal with Junghwan on a daily basis (but who is he kidding, they’ve been married for ten years now with two twin sons).

Junghwan is wiping _actual_ tears off his face.

“Sorry, sorry!” he giggles, toothily and gummily. He looks like his younger self like this. Sungjin had missed such sight.

“Just,” Junghwan clears his throat, “I can’t even. How do you guys _communicate_? The kid’s probably thinking you’re a smelly uncle or something, I’ll bet my paycheck.”

Sungjin laughs, feeling his shoulders and whole body shaking.

“Shut up, _Mister_ Sandeul.” He glares, half-heartedly, and Junghwan just giggles some more. “Hwi-yah, remind me again to take selca with this duck or else the kid won’t believe me that I, unfortunately, am a friend of the great _Mister_ Sandeul.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sand—Junghwan was right.

How does he communicate with Wonpil, he wonders?

Sungjin watches Wonpil eagerly, cutely, reading Junghwan’s long message that was personally written on the first page of his latest album.

Wonpil squeals, cheeks rosy and eyes twinkling after a hearty dinner and a shot of peach-flavored soju Sungjin bought at the GS25 near their apartment because he felt like the kid deserves it, had asked him to buy a bottle anyway and Sungjin thought, no, _was sure_ that Wonpil would enjoy the peach-flavored one.

“Do you like it that much?” Sungjin asks, sipping on his hot green tea. He doesn’t like flavored soju, intending to keep the opened bottle for Wonpil for whenever he feels like having a shot. Just a shot. Sungjin doesn’t want to ruin a scholarship awardee with cheap liquor.

But in his defense, he was already drinking soju when he was eighteen, two decades ago.

“The album? Yes!” Wonpil yells, grinning wide, the cat’s whiskers around his eyes are adorable. He’s clutching Jungwan’s album tightly to his chest.

“And the soju?”

“I was hoping you’d get me a classic soju but heyyy, _suuuuure_.”

“Good,” Sungjin chuckles, getting his focus back on the flat screen showing the late Anthony Bourdain cruising the night street food of Taipei.

He feels the staring because Wonpil is anything but subtle. Casually, he brings down his eyes to steal a look at his neighbor and Wonpil has his lips folded in against his teeth, making him look weirdly cute still, and he looks like he’s _contemplating_.

Sungjin’s been on the receiving end of such look from time to time. And it’s pure instinct, really, because women _love_ the way the corner of his mouth is curled up to form a smug smirk, and they are _weak_ when Sungjin quirks one eyebrow after, just like he’s irrationally displaying to Wonpil right now, a high school student, intention unknown.

But Sungjin knows _what_ Wonpil is going to do next, and he lets him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 
> 
>   
>  * sO WhAt is WoNPiL gOiNG to Do asdjfjksdfka
> 
> * but srsly sungjin WHAT?
> 
> * hypothesize in the comment i dare ya
> 
> # [why hypotheses make me a happy ted](https://twitter.com/thieflance/status/1015770473366372353)  
> [](http://tinypic.com?ref=o92xw1)  
>   
>   
> 


	5. ATTITUDE.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  “I would add some tears in my apology. I mean, _you said_ he can’t live without you. He must be out of his mind.”  
>   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>   
>  * very short, very straightforward
> 
> * thank you for hypothesizing on the previous chapter loololololol
> 
> * kind anons on [tumblr](www.ted-hyung.tumblr.com) have been sending kind asks about [WILLING HEART.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11790870) and how i'm underappreciated in this fandom (my own words lol) pls allow me to apologize loololololololol  
>   
> 
> 
> * * *
> 
>   
>    
> 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Wonpil was fifteen, he came to Seoul on his own and his new friends often told him to tone down his transparency. Oh, so you think Soojung from class B is pretty cute? That you appreciate us showing you around Hongdae and Myeongdong? That you’re upset we didn’t invite you to a BBQ party last weekend?— _no_ , Wonpillie, if you show what you feel too easily, people are going to laugh _at you_.

They wondered out loud _isn’t Busan namja supposed to be manly and tough and just, you know, cool?_ —and Wonpil vowed to do what they said, until Jinyoung.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Like, so what if Wonpil is transparent? One look from Jinyoung, and his best friend asks him what’s wrong and Wonpil is grateful. He hasn’t been sleeping soundly during the weekend.

He even forgot to style his hair today, and he left his peach-flavored chapstick in his room.

“I did something terrible,” he mumbles, arms crossed and shoulders slumped. Today’s hot weather is unbelievable; the hum from various portable fans are comforting, but of course Wonpil forgot his.

“Explain,” Jinyoung says, reading a new book that’s been dog-eared in some pages. Must be another one from Jaebum-sunbae’s collection.

Wonpil pouts, gnawing his bottom lip. It’s ten minutes before the first bell rings, plenty of time to get rid of the stubborn clenching in the pit of his stomach. He decides to get straight to the point.

“Have you ever puked on someone?” he tries, interlacing his cold fingers together, twisting his body so he’s facing Jinyoung who’s sitting behind him.

 _That_ makes Jinyoung look up from the book.

“Uhh,” Jinyoung frowns, thinning his thick, pink lips. “No. Did you?”

Wonpil nods, sniffing. A flash of last Friday’s unfortunate event is forcing his mind to shut it down with a firm headshake.

Jinyoung raises his thick eyebrows, closing the book and leaning forward on his elbows. “How bad? But you did apologize to her, right?” he whispers, because even though both of them don’t have problems with the rest of their classmates, still.

Wonpil doesn’t bother to correct the pronoun.

“I was kinda tipsy? Drunk? I freaked out,” he whines, scrunching his nose. “I haven’t talked to hi— _her_. I haven’t even been sleeping!”

Jinyoung pauses, opens his mouth to say something—probably to scold Wonpil for _drinking_ —but as Wonpil is ready with his defense that he only had _one_ shot, Jinyoung just smiles and pats his skinny arms, clucking his tongue in this motherly fond tune.

“If she didn’t forgive you, you can always date another girl,” he says, grinning, because he’s the few people who know about Wonpil’s literal speed-dating some of their obnoxious classmates could only ever dream of doing.

The thing is, Ahjusshi is not a girl Wonpil is currently dating.

“But how am I supposed to face her again?” Wonpil asks, hiding his face with both hands, stomping his feet and wriggling on his seat.

Jinyoung laughs.

“Just be you!” he tuts, then fakes a gasp. “Wait, is she from our school? Do I know her?”

“No,” Wonpil sighs, but at least he’s got some of his sense back. He will apologize later today. Just be me? _Sure thing_ , Wonpil thinks, _Ahjusshi seems to appreciate my cuteness._

“Okay.” Jinyoung says, letting Wonpil to decide whether to continue the topic or not.

Wonpil grins. “Can I borrow your comb and chapstick?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

12:39

wonpillie: hyungie do you hv time?

wonpillie: (╥﹏╥)

 

12:45

Younghyunnie-hyung~: Aww what is it??

 

12:46

wonpillie: how should i apologize to an older friend? im scared

 

12:47

Younghyunnie-hyung~: Hey I’m older haha

Younghyunnie-hyung~: Can’t you remember how you apologize to me?

 

12:48

wonpillie: but its different……….

Younghyunnie-hyung~: How so? Are they mad? Do you need me to talk to them?

 

12:49

wonpillie: nononoNooo its just

wonpillie: i did something embarrassing

wonpillie: to them

 

12:50

Younghyunnie-hyung~: On a scale of 1-10?

wonpillie: 15?

Younghyunnie-hyung~: Dang

 

12:51

wonpillie: (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻

Younghyunnie-hyung~: Lol sorry

 

12:52

Younghyunnie-hyung~: Just be yourself

Younghyunnie-hyung~: If they don’t forgive you, make it a lesson

Younghyunnie-hyung~: So you won’t do the same embarrassing thingy again

 

12:53

Younghyunnie-hyung~: But are you ok tho?

wonpillie: im fine lol

wonpillie: im just idk humiliated?

 

12:54

wonpillie: thank u so much hyungie! ur right

wonpillie: it’s a hard lyfe lesson

 

12:55

Younghyunnie-hyung~: Ofc np at all

Younghyunnie-hyung~: I’m free on Wednesday let’s have dinner together yeah?

 

12:56

wonpillie: yeay! cant wait!

wonpillie: love ya hyung, see ya!

 

 

* * *

 

 

He asks Dowoon about it.

And gets a not-so-supportive guffaw in return. The younger boy needs a full minute to recover from his shock, dramatically needing a wall to lean on or else.

Wonpil jabs a finger to Dowoon’s side, who’s yelping in a high-pitched tone, a drool escaping from the corner of his mouth. He’s just got his braces last week, serves him right for laughing!

“You’re so gross!” Wonpil giggles, fishing out a pack of tissue from his backpack.

Dowoon blindly reaches for it. His temple is sweating.

“You puked on that uncle?!” he’s borderline hysteric, really, yelling unnecessarily. “But— _how?_ When?”

Again, a flash of what he almost did last Friday is being replayed; his palms are twitching, he swears he can feel Sungjin’s sturdy knees underneath them as he closes his eyes, and _there_. There’s the smug, deadly handsome smirk and the challenging eyes, so big and pretty and dark as Wonpil sees himself tilting his head to…

“Doesn’t matter!” Wonpil shrieks, shuddering, clutching at Dowoon’s shoulders and shaking them violently. Dowoon is laughing, screaming, and they’re clutching at each other by the time they have calmed down, sweat pouring down their spine, wetting the tips of their fringe and the back of their white uniform’s collars.

“Did you apologize?” Dowoon asks, taking a deep breath and Wonpil’s hand, pulling him to the direction of a 7-11 just one block away.

Wonpil answers when they’re under the blasting AC by the drinks section, squeezing Dowoon’s hand before letting go.

“I freaked out,” he says, unbuttoning his shirt once. “If you were me, what would yo do?”

“I would add some tears in my apology,” Dowoon replies, inspecting a fridge filled with energy drinks. “I mean, _you_ _said_ he can’t live without you. He must be out of his mind.”

Wonpil sneers, kicking Dowoon’s ass gently with his Converse.

“Get me a Pocari.”

“Aye.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Wonpil listens.

Their apartment building has such solid wall, but sometimes he can catch some noises from his neighbors; number 503 seems to run into his furniture a lot, while Sungjin seems to enjoy fresh air from his opened balcony. It’s just a little bit before their usual dinnertime, Wonpil doesn’t have the gut to send a KakaoTalk to the older man, and decides to wait on his own balcony. Seoul’s summer humidity is reaching its peak. Even dressed in his most favorite, frayed t-shirt and cotton shorts that are _waaaaay_ too short if umma was here she would give his head a good smack, the heat is soon catching up on him.

Ignoring how his armpits are already perspiring, Wonpil scrolls through his Instagram feed. He remembers that Sungjin doesn’t have one. No Facebook. Wonpil isn’t interested in Twitter so he didn’t ask but he’s pretty sure Sungjin doesn’t have that either.

He jumps when the sliding windows on his left side are opened and a second later, he’s staring at the man he almost kissed, who’s already staring back at him.

Sungjin looks the same. Of course he does, it’s only been a couple of days. Wonpil’s inner monologue is interrupted by Sungjin’s wide smile, the kind that make his pretty, pretty eyes round, proudly showing those aging lines.

Wonpil listens.

His heartbeats are loud.

The neighborhood below is bustling alive with laughter and loud conversation.

The wind is shyly caressing the trees at the park just a walking distance from their apartment building, carrying a tuned out melody that reminds Wonpil of what Dowoon said earlier.

 _I would add some tears in my apology._  

 

 

 

 

 


	6. QUESTIONS.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you sure, ahjusshi?”  
>   
>   
> 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sungjin wakes up at 5:30.

Today, he feels like going to work.

It’s all routine from then on; making breakfast, taking a shower, picking the clothes and socks. Maybe a bit of the Chanel cologne later. It’s rush hour right now, so Sungjin doesn’t hurry to finish his plate of omelet with organic red rice and kimchi. A glass of bamboo juice after.

Oh, right. He needs to bring his laptop. And the charger. Also his phone charger.

Sungjin takes the subway, it’s a twenty-minute ride to reach his office in Gangnam. He manages to get a seat, and he leaves his mind blank as he basks in the familiarity of a subway car. The hiss of the automatic doors. The rails. The woman telling them that it’s time to hop off Gangnam station now.

His office is located exactly a block away from the station. He stops by the 7-11 to buy a bar of Snickers, eating it slowly as he continues walking. He greets the front lobby officers, who hurriedly calls one security to escort him towards the designated BOD elevator. Sungjin doesn’t make a small talk with him, just nodding and smiling as they go up to the seventeenth floor. He thanks the man when he exits the elevator, and is facing his PA who’s been waiting for him, looking prim as always.

“Sajangnim,” Mrs. Lee greets him, bowing deep.

“How are you?” Sungjin asks her, clasping his hands behind his back, gripping the half-eaten Snickers and matching his steps with the middle aged woman.

“I am fine, sajangnim, thank you for asking,” she answers, and there’s a relieved smile from the softening edges of her eyes. “I take it you are, as well?” she asks, gesturing towards Sungjin’s everything.

Sungjin chuckles, can’t help the volume because he’s just so glad Mrs. Lee is treating him like usual; like he wasn’t in a coma for eighteen hours and was bedridden for three months.

He spreads his arms, cocking an eyebrow handsomely at her. “Never been better.”

It’s one of the digital copywriters who sees him first. Jimin gasps, her trusted hot pink Beats headphone perched on her ears, “ _Sajangnim!_ ”

Everyone in the open working space is on their feet, bowing at him. Sungjin takes all the time he needs to bask in the sight; the wide windows and the bright sun filtering through. The lull from clacking keyboards and a faint telephone ringing in the distance. His employees smiling and grinning.

“Take a picture, guys, I’m back.” Sungjin jokes, making a heart with his fingers, causing an uproar.

Sungjin lets himself loose. He waves like a popular celebrity towards the raised phones aimed at him, pretending to tell his ‘fans’ to calm down, pointing at his team of software developer and winking at his HR people; lovely ladies who all play along by swooning like fangirls.

“Lunch is on me today!” he announces, firing up his employees to give him even bigger applause with a smug look on his face. Even Mrs. Lee is smiling at his shenanigan.

He takes a deep, deep breath when he gets into his office at the end of the east wing. Closed curtains would be nice, Mrs. Lee, thank you very much. There’s no new email yet for today, sajangnim, would you like a cup of tea? No, thank you, I’ll just—

Sungjin pauses.

“What should I do, Mrs. Lee?”

 

 

 

He gets everyone lunch from The Halal Guys. Sungjin prefers beef over lamb and he takes extra pita breads and white sauce with his set menu. He takes a picture of his lunch with the office view, sending it to both Hwitaek and Junghwan. As usual, Hwitaek frets about him not telling that he’s going back to work _What about your, you know? Uhh, did you eat breakfast?_ —while Junghwan just sends a picture of himself reading a new musical script.

Sungjin wants a free ticket to that. Junghwan will only get him if he takes the kid to watch his musical together later in October.

Speaking of.

Sungjin wipes his fingers on a napkin and switches the April’s monthly report window to Safari.

Maybe it’s not fair to the kid, but the world in general is not fair and Sungjin is part of that world.

He types ‘Kim Wonpil’ on Google. There are several of Kim Wonpils, but only one with his profile up in a Korean National Multi-Art High School. It’s the usual year book pose, back straight, looking at the camera. Wonpil’s smile is without teeth and even through the pixelated JPEG, he looks the cutest with his floppy hair and slightly mismatched eyes.

 _His shoulders are so narrow_ , Sungjin thinks, reading the profile.

 

 **Name:** Kim Wonpil

 **Class:** 3-A

 **Instruments:** piano, synth, guitar

 **Vocal range:** baritone/tenor

_‘Be happy!’_

 

Sungjin remembers his clearly, like he didn’t graduate high school twenty-one years ago. His was _‘Hey now, hey now don’t dream it’s over’_ , a quote from his favorite song.

Wonpil’s Instagram account is @kkkmwpl04. It’s not locked. He has 1,329 followers and he follows 100 people. His selcas are grainy. Sungjin tries to recall the kid’s phone. Right. It’s an iPhone 6 with cracked lower screen. Plain transparent hard case with Mister Sandeul’s signed photocard slipped in the back.

Sungjin had exactly one goal in mind when he decided to be unfair.

He clicks on ones that present Wonpil and his family. Out of the 119 posts, Wonpil posted 2 pictures with his older sister whom he calls ‘noonayaaaaa’ and one of himself as a baby on this year’s Father’s Day and Mother’s Day, his dad and mom holding him respectfully.

Wonpil is not that active on Facebook and he doesn’t have Twitter.

Sungjin assumed that Wonpil is the type to post cover songs videos on YouTube but surprisingly, he assumed wrong.

He goes back to Wonpil’s Instagram. He scrolls down until the very first post, dated way back to 2016. No wild parties. No underage smoking or drinking. Wonpil had a terrible bowl cut and his glasses are actually awful thick. Takes group pictures with girls. There’s a New Year’s Eve video at Gwangalli beach.

Nothing that insinuates that Wonpil might have what Sungjin thinks he does, a selfish hypothesis of his part.

Sungjin scoffs, mostly _at_ _himself_.

He really needs to get laid, huh?

 

 

* * *

 

 

The kid apologizes, and if Sungjin’s eyes are not deceiving him, tears were almost involved before he reassures Wonpil that he’s not mad, he swears, listen, did you have dinner? Should we order chicken?

Wonpil regards him, biting his bottom lip and entwining his hands as if he’s praying.

“Are you sure, ahjusshi?”

“What? Chicken for dinner? Always.”

Wonpil snorts, sounding and looking ugly for a millisecond, and then he runs back inside his own apartment, leaving his balcony’s sliding windows open. Sungjin smiles, shaking his head, leaving his own balcony open as he listens to Wonpil punching the passcode in a hurry.

Sungjin makes a weird sound when he notices Wonpil’s _short_ shorts, the shortest Wonpil has ever worn so far, quickly averting his gaze to the kid’s face who’s already flushing—not because Sungjin _looked_ , he’s sure, it’s from the heat and the adrenaline. The kid was the one who wanted to kiss him, after all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  # girls, oppa is here - only half incorrect NCT yuta to jaehyun
> 
> # a filler chapter  
> boring, i know.........................................


	7. RUDIMENTARY.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Dowoon chirps, “Jinyoung-hyung, did you know? That rich uncle is making Wonpil-hyung his slave.”
> 
> There’s a warning from Jinyoung’s lowered voice. “Kim Wonpil.”  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  * hey guys remember this? if you're not cryin by the end of this chapter i swear.................
> 
> LLOOLOLOLLOOL
> 
> * yo 505 has 39 subscribers, if i don't get 39 comments then what's the point?  
>   
>   
> 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Listen, did you have dinner? Should we order chicken?”

Wonpil bites his bottom lip.

“Are you sure, ahjusshi?” he asks, entwining his hands as if he’s praying. He heard what Sungjin said just fine.

Sungjin grins, handsomely, proudly showing the lines around his eyes, “What? Chicken for dinner? Always.”

Wonpil snorts. He can’t help it. He runs back inside and goes straight to his front door, almost tripping on his flip flops.

_1 9 1 3 1 7._

Wonpil opens the door to Sungjin’s apartment with a rushed whoosh, but he’s closing it softly. The older man is also closing the sliding windows when Wonpil manages to get further inside with a pair of shaky legs. He tries to smile, just in time with the weird sound coming out of Sungjin’s throat. When their eyes meet, Wonpil’s face feels hot. His armpits are perspiring again.

Something in the very back of Wonpil’s brain is telling him to run, he’s not sure why. And where. And _why_ ; it’s just Sungjin. Wonpil hasn’t done apologizing even though Sungjin dismissed it easily, earlier.

Sungjin is standing still where he is, tapping on his phone. Today he especially looks like a (probably) wealthy salaryman he is. He’s got the sleeves of his white, long-sleeved shirt rolled up to his elbows, the top two buttons undone. Wonpil is aware that Sungjin is broad, but the picturesque still makes him wish he will grow up looking like _that_ someday. The black belt looks expensive with the dark grey trousers, which Wonpil knows he won’t find at any department stores. What is it called again? Custom made? No. _Tailor_ made. Sungjin’s trousers look like they’re tailor made to fit him perfectly. Wonpil swears he’s going to ask Umma to get him a tailor made suit for graduation next year. Just one should be enough for now, he’ll have a lot when he’s rich that’s for sure.

“Kim Wonpil?”

Wonpil squeaks, and giggles in embarrassment when Sungjin laughs at him.

“You scared me!” he defends himself, heading to sit on his usual spot on the fluffy carpet, crossing his legs. The carpet’s material is so soft against his bare skin.

“What was it?” he asks, finding Sungjin clearing his throat and walking robotically towards his bed. He sits down there but he’s not facing Wonpil.

“Any special request?” Sungjin sniffs.

“Can I have spicy ones?” Wonpil answers, staring at Sungjin’s broad back. He shrugs off the last remaining of his inner voice telling him to run. He wants to eat chicken. “Can we watch TV, ahjusshi?” he asks again, already reaching for the remote.

Sungjin agrees. He busies himself with ordering and once it’s done he goes to the bathroom to change. Wonpil grabs a cushion and hugs it, leaning back against the couch and enjoying a drama on SBS.

The first thing that Sungjin says as he comes out of the bathroom wearing his usual oversized black t-shirt and cotton pants is, “Is that a trend?”

“Uh?” Wonpil blinks, alerted, sitting up straighter because what Sungjin is asking sounds like a big deal.

Sungjin gestures towards Wonpil’s general direction with a nod of his chin.

“Boys wearing hot pants?”

“’Hot pants’…” Wonpil repeats. He looks down to his exposed thighs and bursts out laughing.

“Yah.” Sungjin chuckles, clearly confused with Wonpil’s reaction. He’s sighing when he takes his usual spot on the couch and his big, big hand is gentle when it knocks Wonpil’s head.

“These are just cotton shorts, ahjusshi!” Wonpil is half-yelling, his face hurts because of how wide his grin is. “They’re like yours, but they’re just, y’know, _shorts!_ ”

Sungjin is _smiling_. Handsomely, for no reason at all. Wonpil wasn’t even trying to be funny.

“You spoke in dialect just now,” Sungjin notes, catching Wonpil off guard.

“I did?” Wonpil wonders if that’s a bad thing or not because he’s been self-conscious about his satori since the first time he moved to Seoul.

Sungjin nods, eyes glued to the flat screen. “That was cute.”

“Tch,” Wonpil is covering his relieved sigh with a click of his tongue. “You bet, ahjusshi.”

Sungjin shakes his head and asks some more about boys Wonpil’s age and short shorts. Wonpil left his phone back in his apartment, so he tells Sungjin to search for a current summer style trend for boy groups on music shows and then Sungjin understands.

(Wonpil tries again to apologize properly, he really does, but Sungjin just shushes him and there’s something from the gentle look of his pretty eyes that convinces Wonpil everything is fine. So he nods and scrunches his nose, thanking whatever deity is up there for letting him befriend such an understanding adult like Sungjin. No more soju with anyone else in the meantime. He needs to build up his alcohol tolerance on his own.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dowoon says as soon as he opens his lunch box, “Hyung, found an online course that will give us nationally acclaimed certificate after we complete all the lessons.”

Wonpil’s ears perked up. He scoots closer to the younger boy on the school cafeteria’s bench, their elbows touching.

“It’s paid, though.” Dowoon continues, not looking up from his meal. It’s kimchi fried rice with runny, sunny-side up egg on top, his favorite. Of course.

Wonpil juts out his bottom lip, unpacking his own lunch box. Sungjin cooked creamy seafood mentaiko penne this morning. Wonpil hasn’t tried mentaiko before, but if he doesn’t like it he’s sure Dowoon will finish it for him.

“How much?”

“200,000 won.”

“Whyyyyyyy!”

“That’s a lot.” Jinyoung pipes in, taking a sip from his water bottle. Today is school cafeteria day, meaning Tuesday, the day the cafeteria lady is selling the most sought after melon bread. The trio has secured two breads for each, as they have the advantage of bringing lunch boxes from home.

“Right?” Wonpil whines.

“It’s legit, though,” Dowoon repeats, “see for yourself.” He gives Wonpil his phone that’s already poised at the online course’s homepage. It’s about self-composing class, copyright, and free three selected classes taught by Seoul Philharmonic Orchestra senior members. They’re even giving five slots to gifted students to have a summer internship next year.

Dowoon hums, “You know what I’m thinking, hyung?”

“Wha’?”

“Ask your neighbor to pay for it. I’ll treat you Pocari if he doesn’t.”

“Don’t be nasty!” Wonpil’s slap to Dowoon’s arm is all instinct.

“Hey, which part of asking your rich uncle neighbor to pay for a _legit_ online course is nasty?” Dowoon scoffs, stabbing a fat shrimp from Wonpil’s lunch box using his fork. “And you have to treat me a big bucket of salted caramel popcorn at CGV cinema when he does.”

“I am _not_ playing,” Wonpil hisses, stealing a half-bitten potato and beef croquette from Dowoon as a revenge.

“You guys, what neighbor?” Jinyoung asks in between plucking the tail off his fried mackerel. “Wonpillie, what’s going on?”

Wonpil answers in what he hopes a final tone to the conversation, “Nuh-huh, nothing is going on. Dowoon is just nasty.”

But Jinyoung’s eyes are already narrowing and that’s never a good sign. “’Rich uncle’?” he repeats.

“He’s just a neighbor. Didn’t I tell you? I puk—” Wonpil pretends to cough to stop himself. Right. Jinyoung _didn’t know_ about Sungjin at all; not the beginning, not their agreement and certainly not how Wonpil _puked_ on Sungjin, not a random teen girl, when he tried to kiss him.

“Uhh… He moved next door like, a month ago? Six weeks ago. I broke his wrist.”

“You broke his wrist.”

Wonpil grimaces. “IknowitsoundsbadbutIpromiseahjusshiissokaynow!”

Dowoon chirps, “Jinyoung-hyung, did you know? That rich uncle is making Wonpil-hyung his slave.”

There’s a warning from Jinyoung’s lowered voice. “Kim Wonpil.”

“Yoon Dowoon!” And Wonpil could only wish that he can get mad at Dowoon for what he just blurted out—but then again he had never asked Dowoon to keep Sungjin a secret from anyone; they haven’t been hanging out with Jinyoung much for Wonpil to mention about Sungjin. It’s just. Insinuating that Sungjin would pay for Wonpil’s pricey online course is a bad enough first impression; Jinyoung is the most cautious teenager in the whole planet and he listens to his oldest sister’s grim stories about society (she’s a journalist)—god knows what he thinks about some ‘rich uncle’ who happens to be his best friend’s neighbor.

Jinyoung hasn’t continued eating.

Wonpil turns to his greatest weapon, but desperate times call for desperate measure.

“Nyoung-ahhhhh, I swear it’s not like that,” he whines, grabbing Jinyoung’s hand on the table. When Jinyoung doesn’t budge and Dowoon realizes he’s kiiinda fucking up by staying silent next to him, Wonpil adds a pout to his already advanced cheating move.

“I broke his wrist ‘cause he thought I was gonna jump off the rooftop, yeah? It was my fault. He’s like, old. He lives alone! I’m just cooking and washing the dishes for him, I swear! You’re always so concerned with me not getting enough nutrition, but look at me now!” Wonpil spreads his arms to accentuate his fuller figure, no matter how minuscule the change is because he’s the type who doesn’t gain weight no matter how much he eats. Jinyoung _is_ concerned, though.

Jinyoung sighs. He squeezes Wonpil’s smaller hand and asks, “Promise he’s not doing anything to you, Wonpillie?”

Wonpil tilts his head.

“He doesn’t touch you anywhere inappropriate? He doesn’t make any sexual comment about your body? Make sure to tell me if he says something that’s making you uncomfortable. Yah, look into my eyes,” Jinyoung leans forward, pulling Wonpil’s upper body close across the cafeteria table. Dowoon has stopped chewing. Jinyoung is searching for any crack in Wonpil’s story by scanning his whole face, but this is not the first time so Wonpil keeps their eye contact.

“Please tell me if he does any of that.” Jinyoung lets him go, but the warning is clearer from his voice now.

 _Ahjusshi would never_ —Wonpil is thisclose to reply with that, but he stops himself right on time. Taking Sungjin’s side won’t do him any good.

“I promise, Nyoung-ah,” Wonpil grins, scrunching his nose, wishing no one could hear the frantic thumpthumpthump of his heart. And to Dowoon, he raises a hand in a mock beating gesture. Dowoon makes a crying noise that isn’t fooling anybody.

 

 

* * *

 

 

On Wednesday, Younghyun takes him to a shabu restaurant for dinner.

“You didn’t!” Wonpil squeals, covering his mouth with the hand that’s holding the chopsticks.

Younghyun chuckles. “I did, I rejected her.” He takes a sip of the iced peach tea before continuing, “She’s like… Seventeen? I’m too old for her.”

Wonpil’s heart skips a beat. He frowns to himself, glaring at his chest.

“Also, it’s not right.” Younghyun laughs, but it’s not a cruel laugh and it’s not addressed to one of his students who bravely confessed to him last week. Younghyun isn’t telling Wonpil her name or which class she’s in no matter how whiny Wonpil becomes. He’s already immune to Wonpil’s greatest weapon, after all.

“How about you, Pillie? How’s your Casanova love life?” Younghyun asks, dipping two slices of beef to a thick sesame sauce.

“Hyyyuuuuung!” Wonpil pouts, trying his best to appear unbothered by shrugging. “Nothing interesting. I’m busy living life.”

“Good,” Younghyun nods, taking the bait. “Eat more.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sungjin is quieter than usual tonight. He’s got the cast removed from his left hand, but he still needs to go to physiotherapy, uh, how many times a week?

“How many times in a week for your physiotherapy session, ahjusshi?” Wonpil asks, digging on his pistachio ice cream. The TV is showing something scary on Netflix. Wonpil is not wearing his ‘hot pants’ today, he’s wearing a pair of black training pants.

“Three,” Sungjin answers, like a robot, and Wonpil thinks maybe he’s tired from work.

There’s an awkward silence between them as Wonpil eats his ice cream and Sungjin doing whatever it is on the couch behind him.

Wonpil jumps when Sungjin says,

“Let’s fix your phone screen tomorrow.”

“What?” Wonpil is just on automatic response mode, and he reaches for his phone on the round coffee table. The lower screen is cracked badly, that’s true. He turns his body to look at Sungjin who’s already looking at him.

He smiles, shaking his phone, “I mean, I’m fine with this.”

Sungjin’s mouth isn’t smiling, but his eyes are. “I’ll pay, Wonpil-ah.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sure you’re used to it, but let’s fix it.”

“Thank you, ahjusshi.”

“We’re going to Myeongdong tomorrow. Is 10 okay with you?”

“11?”

“Alright.”

“Do you want me to wear my hot pants tomorrow?”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

 

 

 

But jokes on Sungjin because it seems like all teenage boys _and_ girls in Myeongdong area are wearing hot pants when they arrive at exactly 11.30 am the next day. It’s Saturday. Sungjin has his expensive sunglasses on but Wonpil is sure his eyes have been as wide as the moon every time teenagers, boys, mostly, are walking pass in their hot pants; cotton, denim, khaki, you name it. Wonpil, wearing his trusted loose denim that he rolls up to show his ankles, is having a _good_ time. Even Appa is not like this and he’s older than Sungjin!

“Yes, ahjusshi, it’s a trend.” Wonpil nudges Sungjin’s arm with a cheeky grin. “Uhh, where should we fix my phone screen then? Lead the way!”

The shop is flashy. You can get all kinds of phone in here. The newest Beats headphone or Bluetooth speaker. Super thin MacBook. Sophisticated gaming PC. Wonpil is sure if they go to Hongdae they will get a cheaper price to fix a cracked phone screen, but Wonpil doesn’t have anything to say in this. Sungjin is paying. With gold card. Wonpil deduces from his love of watching drama that gold card means the best card. Just swipe and you can have anything you want. Of course Sungjin has the best card, who is he kidding.

“See anything you like?” Sungjin asks, signing the receipt. His question makes their shopping guide’s eyes lit up like it’s Christmas.

It’s all thanks to the gold card.

Also, that’s a tough question. Wonpil likes an iPhone X. He won’t say no to a new laptop.

“No, thank you, ahjusshi,” Wonpil smiles, and he keeps it as he catches their shopping guide’s eyes. “Thank you, sir.”

“Alright then,” Sungjin says, thanking the man as well. He gets up from the stool and puts his hand on Wonpil’s back. “Steak?”

“Tempting. But I had shabu with Younghyun-hyung this week,” Wonpil answers, whining just a little. “Pizza?”

They have pizza for lunch, their table on the second floor is facing the busy street of Myeongdong. The weather is so nice. Wonpil snaps a picture of the food and the crowd, posting it in his Instagram story.

He aims his phone to Sungjin who’s busy stuffing his cheeks with pizza.

“You’re really quite handsome, ahjusshi.”

“Huh?”

Wonpil snaps a picture just in time with Sungjin looking at him, cheeks full like a chipmunk. The natural lighting compliments the color of Sungjin’s skin. His loose white t-shirt falls gracefully on his broad shoulders and there are protruding veins on Sungjin’s arms. His big, big hands have clean nails. Wonpil giggles when Sungjin realizes he’s being photographed, and he laughs out loud when Sungjin asks, smirking handsomely,

“Just ‘quite’?”

“Sorry!” Wonpil puts his phone on the table and squeaks when Sungjin kicks his shoes softly. They giggle some more before continuing to finish their lunch.

 

@yoon_dw replied to your story

 

 **@yoon_dw:** lemme guess ur with rich uncle

 **@yoon_dw:** ask him abt the online cours

 

 **@kkkmwpl04:** shuT UP bye

 

Wonpil sneers at his phone and takes a huge sip of his cherry soda. Nasty Dowoon, he grumbles to himself and jogs to the nearest trash bin. They’re roaming around the mall now, relishing the air conditioned building. Sungjin isn’t particularly looking for anything, but he’s stopped by an international brand fashion house that Wonpil is not sure he can pronounce. He asked Wonpil’s opinion about two similar-looking collarless shirts, both in dark colors, and Wonpil picked a mustard-colored one on the rack. He said no when Sungjin asked if he wanted _that_ one, and in the end Sungjin bought the dark green collarless shirt.

“Do you want new shoes?”

Wonpil stares at Sungjin in horror; his hand is still hovering above the trash bin. The older man laughs when he looks at Wonpil’s expression.

“What?” he asks, weirdly sounding scandalized when it should have been the other way around.

“You can’t just—” Wonpil sputters, feeling his face getting hot. “No, thank you. You’re too kind, ahjusshi.”

“Nonsense,” Sungjin nudges Wonpil’s cheek using his knuckles, “why are you so shocked?”

“Because this,” Wonpil knows he’s raising his voice and he’s acting ridiculous by pointing at himself and Sungjin, back and forth, and again and again, “ _this_ doesn’t work like that! I don’t—you know I’m not like that, ahjusshi!”

Yoon Dowoon is so dead. He’s so, so so fucking _dead_ for planting ideas! For making Wonpil too conscious about what Jinyoung is going to find out if he _ever_ entertains the idea of asking for stuffs from Sungjin! He is not playing! This isn’t how they work!

Sungjin is raising his eyebrows, genuinely looking confused with Wonpil’s sudden outburst. His jaw ticks. Wonpil wants to cry because this is embarrassing.

“I’m…” Sungjin is still looking lost and his voice sounds so small. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand what you meant, but I don’t mean it like that.” He pauses, probably getting even more confused with what he just said. Wonpil hates himself for making Sungjin so unsure and even apologizing to him. It’s not right either.

“I’m sorry, Wonpil-ah.”

And Wonpil wants to die because it only takes his name being said so softly for him to break down in the middle of the mall, right by the trash bin in front of the escalators on a very beautiful Saturday with Sungjin holding him close, his big, big hands stroking his head and back in calming circles.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>   
>  # no, but for real i love writing 505 so much please appreciate this by commenting istfg this fandom is stingy loooololololol
> 
> NOT YOU GUYS WHO COMMENTED BEFORE YOU'RE THE MVP you all know i'm always excited for your comments peace  
>   
> 


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